Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

it pains him to recall this, but the first thing he remembers about this new woman are her bare ankles. and far, far more embarrassingly, the outlines of her nipples. she wore no corset and the city air was cold.

when she comes in from the rain and takes off her jacket, he raises his hand up at her to block his view with an embarrassed yowl. he waves his hand and says "aht! no! no, no no.. no."

to spend all this time waiting for a prospective assistant that would never arrive when he could have spent it deciphering more of his new favorite book has left him incredibly irritated. he hears her hands drop against her sides in defeat as she sighs, somehow equally irritated. he waits for distant footsteps that never come. she's still very much there. he's about to tell her to excuse herself when she decides to talk back.

"oh come on, mister.."

he hears paper rustling.

".. carter. no one's around. you can drop the act." her voice is flat, unamused and unimpressed with his hysteria. she fans herself with the crumpled flyer, having ran several blocks to get there just in time to catch him.

it's the end of the day, he's about to pack up, and he has not had a single interested party arrive for an interview except for this.. strange woman. with that kind of irreverence mixed with such divine timing, he wonders if she was a product of that black book as well. maybe whatever mysterious force that has been sending those strange forms in the night has tried a different tactic. and if that's the case, then maybe william should be rebuking those spirits with more conviction. whether succubi or incubi, it will not work on him.

he takes his glasses off and puts his hand over his eyes before he tries to sputter out more words. he gestures with the side of his hand as he speaks, hitting the table as he quotes his own advertisement: "'must provide own costume' means you must provide your own undergarments too!"

he sighs. he can feel a headache brewing just behind his eyes.

"if you cannot even follow a simple request then i'm afraid you're going to have to leave."

lost in the noises of his own banging, he doesn't realize that charlie's pulled up a chair across from him until he sneaks a peek and gasps in surprise. at least she's crossing her arms now, with her jacket hanging off her shoulders. it kind of makes it better. it's easier to ignore cleavage than a flagrant nipple or two.

she places the ruined flyer down on the desk between them and points at its contents.

"are you serious about this?"

"of course i'm serious about this." he scoffs. almost immediately after, he realizes that he's forgotten to keep up the act. "er- i mean, my client. my client is very serious about this. he's an actual magician."

she smiles. it'd be a sweet, tender smile if it wasn't for her insolence. she lets out a short little laugh. "oh. oh, so you're serious."

"is there something wrong with my advertisement?" he fumbles again. he tries a smooth recovery by pointing at the flyer "this- this advertisement right here?"

his scrambling is endearing to her. "um.. yes?"

he puts his glasses back on and looks at her with piqued interest as she sits back in her chair. she appears far more comfortable in her own skin than he is in his. maybe it's because she's showing more skin than he's ever seen on a woman before outside of his few visits to the museum.

"you want a 'lady assistant' for a 'magician's stage show?'" she puts up air quotes "with 'previous experience unnecessary' but she has to have a 'curious demeanor?'"

he butts in quickly, firing his words out like a bunch of darts. "and a keen interest in the mysteries of the universe, yes."

if he explains his ad enough times she'll stop laughing. but it doesn't look like he's explained it enough at this point, because she's still giggling and grinning. "has any woman approached you about this offer at all this entire week?"

"i prefer not to say no, but rather.. not yet."

what lovely optimism. it's kind of cute. "you should leave this kind of advertising to the girls in the papers."

william is not following.

".. unless i'm understanding this wrong and you're the one offering to be the cultured and pleasing companion."

william is not lonely. or at least, he doesn't think himself to be. if things don't work out here, he'll pay his brother a surprise visit. he never did get around to sending that letter. and now that he thinks about it, being a cultured and pleasing companion to a beautiful woman doesn't sound so bad. he considers himself an intelligent, cultured englishman with a lot of pleasant stories.

"i mean, a foreign guy with the cents to spare for every single word in this lengthy ad, expecting to meet at a hotel and make some magic together isn't something you see every day."

he goes pale. it's taken a bit for him to understand charlie's implications, but now that he has, he's unable to ignore it.

that explains everything.

"oh. oh no." he's unable to look her in the eyes any longer. not that he was particularly good at it before. "i think i've made a grave mistake."

william now understands why the people at the san francisco call center were so amused by his ad. he snatches the ad and reads his own words with an intense glare behind his thick glasses. just as quickly as he turned as white as a sheet, he turned as red as a robin.

"hey, don't worry too much about it." she puts her hand on the table. bare hand. it looks soft, well taken care of. "it could also just be a stroke of bad luck."

"my client does not like to be kept waiting, miss.."

he's in real deep shit if he can't find an assistant in time. without an assistant, he'll have to rely on his own marketability, and he has no idea how kindly the people of san francisco will take to the great maxwell if he's nothing but william carter with a new suit. the shadows may get stage fright.

"charlie."

"miss charlie."

she giggles. "i like how you say it. miss chah-lee." she hasn't stopped smiling since she arrived. the only thing that has changed is the size and whether or not she chooses to bare her teeth. "makes me feel fancy."

"ahah, well.. that's just how i talk.." he clears his throat. closing his eyes for just a second gives him a reprieve from her unending eye contact. "if my client finds out that i've advertised him as if he was looking for an escort.."

a deep grimace spreads across his face. she starts feeling a little bad about her teasing. he's taking it too personally. he looks like he really, really cares about making this whole magic thing work. "maybe.. that's just me being jaded about the whole magic thing."

or maybe, that's just charlie looking for work. whatever kind of work that is available that won't bore her to death after her last job decided she was too much of a liability. she can only be nice for so long. it's not her fault that her coworkers decided to poke the bear.

"mister carter, if you can make me feel like what you can do is really magical.. then maybe i'll want to give you a proper interview." she rests her head on her palm. "what do you think about that idea?"

game.

"oh, i'm not the one doing the tricks. i don't really do that myself anymore. you'd have to take that up with maxwell."

set.

she beams. "so you are interested in a proper interview."

and match.

"and when am i going to be able to do that? meet up with ol' maxy." she shimmies her shoulders a little bit, regaining her upbeat energy.

he feels himself get hot under the collar. maxy? he warms up a bit with a shy little chuckle. "ah, erm.. i'm not exactly sure at the moment. i will have to correspond with him."

he dwells on the thought for a little bit longer, leaving a silence that spreads throughout the entire conference room. as.. nice as this woman is, she may not be a good match. what she has in charisma she lacks in etiquette, and if she's right about the way his ad came off then rumors about the two could spread. the thought alone squanders any confidence that was starting to grow as a product of fantasizing about the kind of successful man he could become. maybe even being in the same room as her is a liability. for all he knows, her real intentions could be to blackmail him.

what's he going to say to jack when he inevitably visits? that he put off the visit because he faked his own death, found a magic book, and then that this book may or may not have sent a particularly striking woman to accost him? he doesn't even have a room in the palace hotel. he just lingers and pays for the conference room. what's she going to think when he tells her that her paycheck is hinging entirely on how well their first act goes because he blew all his money on this suit and renting this conference room?

her hopeful expression slips. she worries that maybe she was a little too forward this entire time. as much as her lively disposition helps make her impulsivity easier to swallow, it is not always a cure-all. if this "magic" thing doesn't work out, she's back to looking for the boring jobs. the lifeless jobs. that, or actually trying escorting and meaning it as opposed to simply joking about it to a man that she doesn't know as a way of testing the waters.

the book in his briefcase is calling to him. this meeting is taking too long. it's too much of a hassle to keep trying to let her down easy when she's so strong-willed about it.

he takes a deep breath before saying "i think that maybe we are not a good match for each other. my apologies."

if he looks carefully, he can see that her brows have knotted a little bit. but he isn't looking carefully. he isn't looking at all. she purses her lips and lets out a hiss of air as she tries to settle down. she wants to snap at him and tell him that he doesn't even know how down on her luck she is, and how he could never know how hard her last job was, and how stupid it was that he put on such a stuffy act at the start just because she doesn't want to lace herself up to high heaven like every other gal on the street. but she doesn't.

all she says is "awh. darn." when what she really wants to say is ugh! you're the worst. way to kick me while i'm down!

"i'm terribly sorry." he speaks solemnly, still not looking at her.

the mysterious black book in his briefcase feels like it's rattling inside, begging to be read. pounding on the inner walls, screeching about how this is all a huge waste of time. it's all in his mind.

"i think my client will have to go at it alone."

when he hears her scoot away and get up to leave, he almost feels compelled to tell her in the moment that it's not like he has any money on him to pay her anyways. he owes her at least that tidbit of honesty.

he's surprised at how bad he feels about rejecting her. there's something in his gut that tells him that he's making a bad business decision, like renting props from that upcharging witherstone guy. if she's really the only woman that's going to show up, then he's squandered his one and only chance to have any pillar of support for his future acts.

she at least has the mercy to grace him with a calling card. she accidentally places it down too hard. she does it on an impulse, trying to posture to him that for all he knows, she could be in high demand and she could have given these cards to many people today.

she tries to ease the roughness of her movements with a softer "here. if you change your mind."

even softer. she entertains his awful lie from earlier. "or your client. you can pass this on to him too."

and her posturing works. he takes the perfumed card with a nod, and hears those distant footsteps he wanted to hear so badly earlier, but doesn't feel any relief from it.

Chapter Text

william arrives at the palace hotel three times in one day. the first time is to use the phone booth and to become dismayed when he realizes that he hasn't brought his american money with him. he asks the nearest staff member if there's a chance that they could somehow take pence. threepence, sixpence, you know, like a tanner.

the woman- one of the palace hotel's many janitors- tells him in quite possibly the thickest irish accent he's ever heard in his life that she doesn't care how many pairs of pants he's offering and she doesn't care if they're tanned leather either. those booths take american coins and american coins only. come back when you have a quarter to spare. let me say this to you slowly: an american. quaaarrteeeerrr. your limey green don't work here, you doughnut.

if he could understand her through her thick accent and the whistled air through her buck teeth, he'd at least be honored that she thought he was rich. she mumbles something about englishmen always expecting to be accommodated no matter where they go without assimilating like everyone else. oh well. time to go back to the other side of the city and get the right green.

returning to his real motel room in a much more affordable side of town gives him a chance to reconsider what he's about to do. he looks at the number on the calling card again. the card is perfumed. he's taken greater care to remember to take the card with him than he did to remember his american currency the first time he left. it'd be a funny realization if it didn't lead to him wasting so much time. he uses the opportunity to check himself in the crooked mirror in his small room.

if there's one thing he never forgets when he leaves, it's his brand new book. it's like a good luck charm for him. maybe even better than a good luck charm if it helped him cheat death. once you've been crushed by a train and wandered through a desert to the nearest town over, a quick hop skip and a jump over to the other side of the same city is nothing. he seems a more confident man in his reflection when he's about to leave. more dapper, more suave. now that guy? that guy in the mirror? that's maxwell. he hopes to become him one day.

it's all thanks to that book. there's something about that book that makes him feel like everything's going to work out just fine.

he's been looking at people a little bit differently since his meeting with that rather interesting woman the night before. everyone that he passes by as he leaves the motel are as well put together as he is. part of good presentation is making sure everything is in order. clothing is like armor, in a way. it must be layered and structurally sound. if one desires to fit in, desires to get a job, desires to succeed, they must be willing to grow a few angles to fit into the appropriate boxes. stiff layers of clothing and rigid, tight pairs of undergarments and undershirts are part of the game one has to play.

it was disarming to see someone with more rounded angles. someone who was visibly so.. delicate. there was no proper sheath around the sword. she was bare, without a dent or sharp edge. it was bizarre to see someone not want to play the game at all. not a sword, but instead something more gentle, something that may not require a sheath to keep from harming others with their edges. edges that catch the light. not even her face was sharp. her features were all made up of gentle slopes and fuzzy lines, and yet they still managed to catch the light.

they were not at all like his. angular features that look as if he was molded in the womb by being pushed and pulled at like a lump of clay. mother always told him that he was such a handsome young boy. but he's a grown man now. he's older than he ever thought he'd be. jack, his twin, wore the same face and yet managed to be far more successful in love than he ever was. the entire ordeal, the rituals, the courtship.. it was all something he planned on doing someday, but had put off every single day until those days became weeks and those weeks became months and those months became years.

there's no way that that woman, charlie, did not have a long line of potential suitors. her image dances against his eyelids in the dark of the night when he tries to sleep. distracting. irritating. not part of the plan. at least, not part of the plan for maxwell. william, on the other hand, could spare at least a single day to think about her a little longer before keeping up the search for an assistant. maybe he should advertise elsewhere, or perhaps look for male assistants. he needs to be more strategic. but those are things that maxwell needs to be. and he'll go be maxwell tomorrow.

when he arrives at the palace hotel, he feels oddly out of breath. william has let his anxiety get to him. and because he must be william for the day, he has to stew in it. at least the woman that was sweeping around the phone booths anymore. no one is. it seems like it's a quiet day at the palace hotel. all the better for people to listen in on his conversations. the thought makes him even more nervous.

he picks up the phone with sweaty palms, and when he can't find her calling card, he panics as he pats himself down. it suddenly feels like the most precious thing in the world to him. for a second, that card was more important than his book. thankfully, he still had it. it was just in his breast pocket. it might smell like roses from now on.

he sets it down, puts his (correct) coins in, and uses the rotary. when he finishes dialing all the numbers, he hears a silence at the end. he worries that he's wasted even more money, or worse, that the number is somehow a fake. or even worse, that he can't get on the line because someone else is calling her. someone better than him. he drums his fingers over the tabletop and bites the skin of his lower lip, hoping that he's just overreacting.

it works. it actually works. god, he could cry after holding in all that pent up anxious neurosis. his voice cracks when he makes a small noise of surprise after hearing her voice.

when charlie asks who it is, william hesitates and wonders if she would prefer to talk to william or maxwell. he thinks maxwell is the better choice, but his mouth moves before he lands on a choice, and blurts that it's william. she's speaking to william.

he hears a small laugh through the phone line. is he being made fun of? he already was unsure about going through with this. he's gotten remarkably sweaty, and he's only said two words. he has no idea that on the other line, charlie is seated at another phone booth, relieved that he called when she was around to pick up.

she's in a more dangerous part of town than he is. when she wrote to winona and she found out about where exactly her little sister was, the letter that she got back in the mail had much darker, angrier marks. winona had been putting a lot more pressure on that pen than usual. charlie responded in kind. kinder, actually. she showed winona exactly how lacking her angry scrawl looked with an even angrier letter. at least with letters she could muster the courage to say things to her overprotective big sister that she'd cry if she ever had to say to her face. at least, after that exchange, winona seemed to relent.

but he doesn't need to know where she is. she doesn't even want to tell him where she is. he doesn't need to know about the amount of times she's sat at the phone expecting to pick up and hear from him only to hear someone looking for someone else, or worse, someone looking to provoke someone else. that was the cost of being the only one loitering around this dinky, vandalized phone booth far from prying eyes.

so as far as he's concerned, she is at home. a nice, spacious home. when she laughs, she does it because she can hear his nerves through the phone line and thinks it's cute. she asks him what his reason for calling is.

he.. doesn't seem to know why he called. it's probably because william didn't think he'd get this far. he's still a little breathless.

"i wanted to.. apologize."

"what for?"

"my comments last night. i was a bit rude to you when you arrived." he's speaking less because he regrets his words (he still believes he was correct to rebuke her choice in clothing.. or rather, of not being properly clothed) and more to stretch the time between the present and the inevitable moment where she'll find a way to reject him somehow, about something. "it was a bit.. uncouth of me to comment about a lady's choice in dress."

it's quiet on the other end. the most he gets after a few seconds is a simple "oh."

william is now a little bit too aware of the possibility that people could be listening in on his conversation. it doesn't stop him from blurting out more words to stretch time even harder, but it does make him blurt his words out a little more quietly. "f-ffhh..." he takes a breath and starts again. "far be it from me to make such comments about your.. body parts..?"

if maxwell was a separate entity from william, he would have promptly smacked him right then and there. he would grab him by the collar and tell him to take what he wants when the opportunity presents itself. he'd tell william how much of a bumbling fool he looks like right now. it's still quiet on the other end.

"hello?"

charlie doesn't exactly know what to say. she's never really been talked to like that. but she's nevertheless amused. "my body parts?" she leans against the wall of the booth. "i don't remember that. which ones come to mind?"

"agh- you know i'm not going to say it out loud." he lowers his voice "miss charlie. if you must know, i am in public."

she chuckles again. as funny as it is to push his buttons, she doesn't want to push too hard. that might get her the same results as the day before. "okay, okay fine. i accept your apology."

standing up for himself gets him a pat on the back from the imaginary maxwell. it seems to be building a little bit of confidence in william. he's starting to slowly start saying the kinds of things maxwell would say.

"now, what else did you want to talk about?" he hears her ask through the phone. he has a wandering thought about if she smells as nice as her card today. "i don't imagine someone as busy as you has taken the time to call just to apologize for something as silly as that."

now, all william has to do is try and keep saying the things he thinks maxwell would say. should say. he's no longer sweating. the nervousness of the novel wears out quicker than he expects, fueling his confidence a little bit more. "you're quite right."

it seems like maxwell has control of the situation. hopefully. so long as charlie doesn't interrupt him.

"have you.. i dunno, found a use for me?"

"a use for you- what are you talking about-" william, not liking where this is going now that she's the one asking questions, is trying to break away from the script.

"you know, since i told you how i didn't care about what the ad was really about." charlie just wants to get paid one way or another. "were you calling to schedule an interview or were you calling to schedule something a little more clandestine?"

william. you are an older gentleman and you are looking for a career in the arts. artists meddle in all sorts of clandestine things. you know why you wanted to call her. you know why you came all the way here. it is because you are not above using anyone to get what you want, and other people are no different. you have felt these sorts of feelings before and i know exactly what it is that you- that we- want. everyone should be working for you. working for us. before you know it, people will be begging to bed us. ignore the cost. it's an honor that she's offering to be the firs t. anything we owe we will make tenfold.

maxwell sets him straight. he settles down, his voice comes out a bit smoother. maxwell is right. the world owes him many favors and many indulgences. turn it around on her, william. see if you can make her really beg for it.

"i think you know what it is that i want." william thinks thats the perfect answer to her question. retaining maxwell's confidence and also william's hesitance and evasiveness. it's not like becoming the great maxwell is something that could happen overnight.

she raises her brows. she's a little bit impressed. it's taken him a little bit to warm up, but it seems like he's willing to volley with her. she looks around before answering. "mm.. i sure do."

it's funny. they're both reaching blindly for the other in hopes that a stray hand will land somewhere. anywhere. playing around in the dark in an attempt to unveil the other person's weak point without rolling over yourself. maxwell is not the only person who believes that they are owed many favors and many indulgences. william is not the only person who is a bit nervous about the entire ordeal.

"if you really are serious, you should tell me exactly what it is you want in great detail." she covers the speaking end of the phone to snicker. there's no way this timid giant will follow through.

maxwell sneers in response to her muffled giggle.

she's playing with you, william. she's getting comfortable. she doesn't think you're serious. you've set the bait. trap that pretty little bird.

"i would like for you.." how are these things supposed to be done again? this isn't proper courtship. william actually has no idea how to ask for the things he wants yet. maxwell might. "to come down here with an eager appetite."

too vague. she's confused. ".. ahah. what for? is dinner on your dime?"

are you trying to let her get away on purpose? are you simple?

"you're a smart girl, miss charlie. you're familiar with innuendo. i know what you're in need of and you know what i'm in need of. i think that we can help each other. so come and visit me soon. i would like to see you." william tries his best to be just a little bit clearer. he looks around to make sure no one is nearby. "i would like to curb a craving."

better. power can do amazing things when it's funneled through the right channels, william. keep command of the conversation, and you will come out of it a more powerful man.

but william doesn't feel like a more powerful man. william feels awash with shame. something about the way he's speaking overrides his earlier desires with guilt. he's normally nowhere near this impulsive.

"that sounds exciting.." she bites her lip. "i can get ready for you right now if that's what you want."

the implications of her words mix with his home brewed shame and create something truly nauseating. either he walks this back right now and humiliate this poor young woman, or he allows this meeting to happen with the realization that he will never forgive himself for this. he doesn't know when he started sweating again. he doesn't know when everything started feeling so small and close together. he doesn't know what to say. he doesn't even know that he's been sitting there in silence for too long.

"that.. is what you want, right?" charlie loses her momentum.

if this is what it takes to be the great maxwell, he's not sure if he can bear doing it. it's not because he doesn't want to see her, but because he's terrified of what he could do when he does. he's only known her for less than a day and she's already haunting his dreams.

".. right?"

that kind of haunting can only be a consequence of the book. it has to be. he doesn't have to take it so hard if he can convince himself that this was a challenge sent from whatever entities live in the book. he's just not himself. that's what it is. that's what it has to be.

"hello?"

if he says no to her, he's overcame the challenge. he's overcame his own desires. but he also doesn't want to deny her or himself. it's also not gentlemanly to treat a woman so crudely. maybe he can try courting her properly if this is so nerve-wracking.

".. mister carter?"

but what if she doesn't want that? what if she cares little for those things? what if she's the one trying to trap him? he's going to get a headache if he keeps thinking about it. but he's in for an even bigger headache if he answers her.

he tries to hang up on her, but he can't bring himself to put the phone down.

it is easier after he whispers a quiet "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." before he does it.

charlie's eyes widen. "what- are you serious?!"

she's bright red with frustration and humiliation. all that conversation to lead to no payoff, literal and metaphorical. and to think she started thinking he was kind of cute. it embarrasses her to think that there was a significant part of her that was kind of hoping that he took her up on her non-magical offer. she was kind of looking forward to the idea. she was kind of hoping that she'd be able to see him again.

her anger flares and she has to fight the urge to throw the phone at the wall.

the palace hotel guests that day all noted the nervous man who seemed in a rush to leave the venue. there's a calling card left on the floor of the booth. an ornery janitor will sweep it up in the night while complaining about the entitlement of the guests there.

Chapter Text

maxwell dreams of caviar. duck confit. a nice wine. a nice suit. a dinner with rich proprietors. the dream it all comes to him in pieces, one after the other. service à la russe. laughter that he isn't quite sure is all that genuine; laughter that sings out from both himself and future patrons. maxwell dreams of a life he knows he deserves.

william dreams of black pudding; blood that does not go to waste. bubble and squeak. scouse. a meal he comes home to after his excursions in the united states. service à la française. laughter that comes out so forcefully that he has to cover his mouth with a napkin and apologize for the mess. meeting his nieces and reuniting with his mother. william dreams of a life he knows he can't have anymore.

that peculiar black book sits on the bedside table. it's always waiting for him. sometimes william swears he can hear it.. shallowly gasping for air. sometimes william swears he can see the pages gently rise and fall like there are lungs beneath the parchment. it's a book that can't be read from start to end. instead, william finds himself opening it to a different set of pages each time. it somehow feels easier to understand that way. the letters shift from page to page so much that trying to remember a page number would not make anything easier.

there isn't much he can glean from it at first, but what he does manage to understand he finds can make use of with great zeal. with just a flick of his wrist, shadows dance beautifully and dash from wall to wall. it's like a puppet show. the puppets come to life and before he knows it, he's dancing with himself in his study room. or rather, a better version of himself. a version of himself that never slouches or tries to make himself look smaller. that, he realizes, must be maxwell. he is excited to become that man. it'll finally be his turn to lead the dance. in the ballroom of his mind, william will be his first dance and when it is time to exchange partners, he will make sure maxwell pairs up with only the best of company. william promises to invest in maxwell's future, and this mysterious book makes the same promise as well.

maybe he could do the show on his own. after all, he won't be performing as william carter any longer. it's been weeks of no interested parties. no one has dropped by to be interviewed. it's beginning to leave him a bit peeved. he wants to yell out from the empty conference room. an embittered "don't you all know who i am?!"

but he doesn't. he simply leaves early. no one's going to show up anyways. it is time for him to be honest with himself. no one is going to dump their day job for magic except those with nothing to lose. those that are so desperate for any kind of work that they'd be willing to offer more than just on-stage assistance. come to think of it, william is not sure if that is the kind of talent pool he wants to fish in.

actually, he's going to pretend that no one showed up at all. no one showed up the entire time he's been scouting for an assistant. yes. that's the story william will tell himself. he's decided to avoid thinking of the one person who did. it's easier that way.

charlie has also thought similarly. a magic gig sounded fun. a not-literal magic gig with a man who looked like he had a lot of money sounded... slightly less fun, to be quite honest, but still something she was amenable to. unlike william who has been thinking of her for a week before having to put in actual effort to let go of, charlie has only now decided to quit acting like that man never existed.

it was actually incredibly easy to forget about him after a rejection like that. after a long walk that same night and a good cry, he was as good as dead to her. the only reason why she's revived him is because the job search has been unsuccessful. it also wasn't nearly as fun to try to tease and provoke other recruiters. there was no windfall. every failed attempt just reminded her of how badly it stung to have her time wasted weeks prior.

was it her face? was it her voice? was it her body? was it.. just the way that she was at her core? what clued him in at the last minute of their call to hang up in her face? if magic is real, then maybe he knows something about her that she doesn't even know about herself that turned him off. it was the one and only thing she didn't write to her sister about that week. it would be like rubbing salt into her own wound. when she returned to her place the day of her rejection and saw her incomplete letter full of delight at the possibility of something new and unorthodox, she crumpled it up and threw it out the window. she did that mostly to release the pent up energy that was still inside of her, but partly because of a silly thought that somewhere and somehow that paper would make it to him.

that paper would make it to him and make him feel bad. feel awful. he could have her hopes and dreams, literally pre-crushed, right in his hands. but william has no need for such things. he's felt bad about it all on his own and has now managed to stop that nebulous cloud of guilt from raining on him wherever he goes.

charlie's going to give that man a piece of her mind tonight. that or beg for a job. whichever one she feels like when she sees him. she's already on borrowed time in the city. she's going to have to go back home if this doesn't work out. if he even gives her an inkling of a feeling like he might try to toy with her feelings again, she will make sure to go out with a bang. she'll head to the palace hotel and will ask around about the lanky british man with a hooked nose and an odd energy about him. or she'll find him first.

she passes right by him without noticing. she doesn't remember exactly what he looked like and the dim lights are not helping. they're also not helping william either. he sips, winces as his throat burns, and readjusts his glasses to try and make out the words in that same old black book. it has become an obsession. he's taken the time to get to the palace hotel and he's going to make his time there worthwhile if no prospective assistants are going to show up. he thinks that he looks interesting and erudite with his book out at the bar. the possibility of either someone else or william himself ending up accidentally spilling anything on the book doesn't even cross his mind. he has always been a form over function kind of man.

charlie ends up not asking anyone. the second she tried to approach a bellhop and remembers exactly how she's going to describe the man she's looking for, she realizes it might make her look a bit desperate. she's checked the same room she met him in before and found it empty. the interviewee chair is in the same place it was when she last left it weeks prior. when she passes by the bar, her eyes gaze straight through william's back. it is only after she makes the rounds of all the rooms she thinks he could be in once more and returns to the bar to rest that she sees him.

she studies william's face with a hand propping her head up on the counter. any doubts she has about whether or not that is the man she's looking for completely disappear when she sees that he's reading at a bar. a busy pub and this man only has eyes for his book. it is.. oddly endearing. even a bit romantic.

she observes him for longer than she realizes. he never looks around. he only pauses to drink and then returns to his little storybook. sometimes he squints. sometimes he needs to follow his finger as it traces lines that appear to curve around a page in a spiral. he always appears so well put together. when he takes his glasses off to clean them she thinks that he almost looks.. kind of handsome under the lights. only kind of. she smiles. it's a smile of pity.

when she gets up she's surprised that she's got butterflies. it makes her gait appear more uncertain than usual. she doesn't want to give him a piece of her mind or beg for a job. she wants to stay quiet.

her body moves on its own and puts a hand on his shoulder for her. with that impulsive move, she has to blurt out something. on the way there she had been thinking about all the things she could say to him. she could come in like a mad wife angry that her husband has been gone for hours, or come in like a sorrowful widow to proclaim that she's lost everything. she wants to leave an impact. but all the thoughts in her head twist and funnel into a rather plain sounding "hey. remember me?"

she may have made him flinch a little bit when she put a hand on him, but she scares the daylights out of him when he finally recognizes her face after a few seconds of confused, wide eyed staring.

william blinks several times just to make sure it's not a dream. he opens his mouth and realizes he's forgotten her name. he may not recall her name, but that face is unforgettable. it's a face thats plagued his memories ever since they met. infected his very being. a quiet little noise comes out before he finds a few spare words to throw out: "ah- what are you doing here!?"

despite her nerves, charlie keeps a cool air about her. she does a great job of appearing unbothered. "you told me you were interested once. you got cold feet when it came time to tell me where and when. i figured it would be worth a shot to pop by and look around."

if only the story was as simple as she recounted it. if only this was just charlie satiating a curiosity of hers on her free time and not a bid for either closure or new beginnings. he looks away from her and finds that he has to catch his breath. whether meaning to or not, his eyes inevitably drift back to his book. both appear to be competing for his attention.

and for once, charlie might win out. she sits beside him. he looks at her out of the corner of his eye before adjusting his shirt collar and clearing his throat. the warmth he feels in his stomach compliments the warmth that reaches all the way up to his eyebrows. he doesn't know what to say to her now that she's right in front of him.

she thought she'd be far more emotional than she ends up being. the more she studies him, the more the difficult feelings start to break up into little pieces and dissolve like an effervescent tablet to clear up a headache. trembling little dots of bitterness and confusion disappearing on her tongue and leaving behind only words that communicate a base human desire to understand and connect.

she leans in. "are you reading at a bar?"

"well," he clears his throat yet again. it suddenly feels dry. "there are some.. difficult and complicated subjects in this book that i need to loosen up for."

"and you couldn't just leave it in your room before you came down here?"

he opens his mouth to respond before he can think of an answer. she fills the silence in herself.

"that engrossing a read, huh."

he struggles to find something to say. he's busy dealing with an unsettling new thought. he's not exactly old enough to be her father, but just old enough that other peoples' eyes may linger just a bit longer when seeing the two of them together. william is acutely aware of this. it's been something that he's been aware of ever since the failed phone call.

".. y-yes."

she raises her brows for a moment and leans in closer. "knowing the little bit i've gotten to learn about you, it's probably something real esoteric. let me see-"

"no..! it- um.. it's all in king james' english." too close to modern english. william has to think again. "very early modern english. tremendously early. almost middle english, even. it's very.. ornamental, you see. kind of boring to the average reader."

"you're not going to even let me see for myself whether or not it's boring?" charlie is unimpressed with his excuses. this should be predictable by now. she's come here searching for him because he's decided to make decisions for the both of them back then and he's making decisions for the both of them in this very moment. she sighs.

"i'm sorry, charlie.." he mutters, closing the book. it feels like he's been apologizing to her every day since that call, but in his mind. and so it comes out well rehearsed. he tries to offer her some sort of consolation. "would you like something to drink?"

"yeah. whatever you've got here," she takes his glass and swallows far more than she quickly realizes she should have. she demonstrates a lot of needless bravado despite how strong and acrid his drink is. but within seconds, the mask falls and she makes a face. "that's-" she coughs. "that's awful- what is that?"

"nordic liquor. wormwood. kind of like an absinthe."

she stirs in her seat, wiggling her index finger. "no- wrong answer." she switches back and forth between cringing and laughing. "it's nasty is what it is. now i really do need something to drink."

when she asks for a water, he feels the urge to interject. please, ask for something i can pay for. something i can make up for. something to show that he has both the means and intentions to repair this pesky little fault line. when the bartender pours her a glass, he puts off saying it for another time. that's something william does best. putting things off. putting people off. he thinks it's a bit of a surprise that she's still stuck around.

"so.. did you still want to see me?" she's more forward sober than william would ever be drunk. "i still wanted to see you."

her words feel less like flirtation and more like a bid for any sort of connection, really. it's the way that she's looking at him. it's the way that her entire body is facing him while he's still turned towards the counter. her legs are crossed and she's leaning in, but not so much that william has no space to breathe.

"ahah," he feels hot under the collar. he can feel maxwell grab his shoulders and shake them. william must not butcher this opportunity. is this what it feels like? is this what success feels like? to be so alluring that others simply cannot resist being around you? to have someone enthusiastic about seeking you out? is this what it feels like to be maxwell?

perhaps not. let's not delude ourselves. maxwell wouldn't have gotten himself into this mess to begin with. maxwell wouldn't be so shaken up at the sight of a woman. perhaps these feelings and desires are more a result of her circumstances and not something she would be doing if she had better company. but does that matter right now? does that matter now when she's seated right in front of him, spoken her mind, and awaits an answer? it does not matter who she'd rather be with in times like these. it matters that for now, for whatever reason, she has chosen to be here. with william. and she eagerly awaits for what william will say.

it's not like he doesn't want an assistant.

"i'm not opposed to the idea." a small, timid smile forms across his thin lips. maxwell finds the answer a bit mealymouthed and unconvincing, but it seems like charlie has far more patience for shy folk than he does. william sucks in a breath before expressing his emotions with just a bit more conviction. "it would be nice to interview you again."

her face lights up. she didn't even have to beg him or threaten to embarrass him. he's brought the opportunity right to her. maybe it's because she feels like a new life is presenting itself to her. maybe it's because the water has washed that god awful liquor down and away from her taste buds. there's something about his hand resting on the counter that makes her want to grab it and squeeze it in both her own. a physical manifestation of gratitude. she holds off on it. maybe later. maybe if she's continues to be on her best behavior.

for a man that appears so weak and gawky, he sure likes a strong drink. she watches him take another sip and watches the lines of his face crease as he grimaces. he takes another sip in hopes that maybe he'll get used to it. it just makes him shudder and shake his head. this was much easier to do before charlie came around. she laughs.

"you don't like the stuff either, do you?" there's a warmth in her eyes as she smiles at him. bonding over foul booze.

no, i do. it's just an involuntary thing, my dear. though it is quite strong. is whispered in his ear. maxwell offers something smooth, something suave that makes him look more dignified.

"god, no." william's voice comes out thin. he laughs with her.

as much as he wants to heed maxwell's advice and become the man he's always wanted to be, there's something about charlie's straightforwardness that has him at ease. if he was maxwell, he'd approach with caution and not be too relaxed in order to keep his guard up and his ego preserved. but he's not maxwell yet. being around her makes him think that maybe that's okay.

"i'm drinking this because.. ah.." he tries to think of something noble to say. maxwell thinks that he doesn't owe anyone an explanation for his behavior. william doesn't see it that way. "sometimes toughening up requires letting loose."

she raises her thin brows and nods, pretending to understand what he's saying. she does a good job of making him feel like he said something wise.

"it's no different from making a pincushion of yourself and pricking your finger with a drawing pin over and over until you no longer fear needles or the sight of blood, i suppose."

she loses her composure and leans in. he leans out reflexively. she says with her eyes wide: "did you do that?"

"oh, no." his answer is confident enough to get her to relax. it's just not confident enough to get him to relax. "well, not as an adult."

"huh." she's mildly disgusted and morbidly curious. she keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs. she shifts around impatiently as if waiting for something bigger. a moment where they can really get to interviewing each other. "i guess we all did weird things as kids."

there's a moment of silence as the two look at everything but the person sitting next to them. william feels like a sheepish little boy again, unsure of what to say and unsure if what has already been said was good enough for a woman that was so insatiably inquisitive.

on the bright side, that passion for prying also serves to pick up his slack. she knows what she wants, and she's going to make sure she gets it.

"so.. do you feel sufficiently tough now?" she teases "tough enough to handle me in an interview, boss?"

william was moments away from abandoning the drink entirely, but her eagerness is so overwhelming that his hand reaches for the glass before his mind can even process that he's taking another sip. on the bright side, that hastiness keeps him from making too much of a face this time around. maybe maxwell appreciates the bravado.

he's been dragging his feet for too long, and she knows it. it's past the last hour he had the conference room booked for, and he's sitting at a bar at a hotel he isn't a proper guest at. this location doesn't seem like a good choice for an interview. it's not even a good choice for a date. but william must keep up appearances.

"why of course, miss charlie." he makes sure to take his book in his arms before he even thinks about getting up from his seat. he muses quietly: "i will have to find an adequate place for us.."

when he gets up, she follows in suit. charlie is now able to see for herself how tall he is in comparison to her a second time around. that is the first thing she notices. the second thing she notices is how nice he smells. it's a strong scent that's begun to shed off its top notes after hours of wear. a powdery rose scent. some wood. clean. a cloud of jasmine that trails away when he starts to walk towards the exit.

"hey- don't think you're going anywhere without me!" with a quick run, she catches up to him and grabs at the sleeve of his nice suit. a bitter yet bemused chuckle follows. "not after what you pulled last time, mister carter."

there's something about the way she addresses him, both playful and stern in equal measure, that makes something stir in the pit of his stomach. before he can say anything about how she's wrinkling his suit, she hugs it with both arms. now everyone's going to think they have a less-than-professional relationship. maybe it makes william conceited to think that anyone who crosses their path would find him important enough to remember, but it nags at him anyways. she has to know what she's doing. she has to know what this does to him. she's making sure that he can't get rid of her no matter how hard he tries. all he can do is fix up the rest of his suit with his free hand and keep his head up and his eyes looking forward as he walks out. it is what maxwell would want for himself. maybe it is what charlie wants from him, too.

Chapter Text

when they get closer to the check in counter, william has charlie keep a distance from him that is so far that the woman at the front desk begins to think that he could be diseased. she backs up ever so slightly when he approaches. he’s come up to the check in desk before coming up with a good story to tell. he needs to come out of this conversation with a key to a room he knows he cannot afford.

he leans down and does something rather impolite; he puts his forearms on the counter. opens his mouth but no words come out for a moment. he presses his lips together firmly. with lips as thin as his, his mouth now looks like a straight line. he puts his words together like puzzle pieces in his mind and gives them a good shake. if the pieces fall apart under scrutiny, the sentence is no good. he needs to find a way to get what he wants before he loses a good thing. or rather, before he loses a good thing again. maxwell hopes that if it comes to that, charlie gives him a good swift kick on her way out. william is not in the mood for a boot to the shins; her shoes appear rather well made and the pain would only hurt worse with the knowledge that he would deserve to feel every ounce of it for his cowardice.

“.. suppose i’ve. ah.. no no, that won’t do..” he makes a line with his pointer finger across the wood. his indecisive and nervous demeanor is half genuine. there’s a part of william that wants to keep up the act as long as possible in order to push the daunting task of speaking with charlie further into the future. lies are easier when there’s a hint of truth to them, and his truth is in his hesitance.

when william pulls threads of a story together tight enough that he thinks he’ll be able to convince her, he taps his finger on the counter. it only takes a few awkward seconds.

“my apologies miss, this is my first big break and i don’t quite know what to do.” he clears his throat. he feels hot. as an oblivious child, he once asked his mother why that happens when people (individuals that were totally not himself) lie. mother told him that it was a taste of hell’s heat. a lick of brimstone against the collar of his suit. he will have to grit and bear it. the book will put him through worse. “you see, i’m with misters abernethy and parker. have you heard of them?”

“no, sir. no i haven’t.” the woman appears tired and unimpressed.

william straightens his back and puts on the best performance of a shocked man that he can. he speaks louder, but not so loud that charlie will hear as she waits in the busy lobby. “you haven’t heard of one of the most successful traveling vaudeville troupe of the last three years?”

she raises an eyebrow. he continues before giving her a chance to doubt him.

“i’m an organist. hasn’t the palace hotel been hosting recitals in the palm garden?”

“for the first and second week of june, yes.” his dates are a bit off.

“please, miss. if you can just give me and my troupe a chance.. i can give all of the palace hotel a night to remember.”

“and where’s the rest of your band?”

“you see, there’s been an accident on the way here. just a terrible, nasty one. the horses were all rabid. i was one of few that came out unscathed. they told me to go on ahead, as fast as my feet could take me.” william’s pained expression and lamenting voice appears authentic enough. when he laughs at the thought of a gang of rabid horses mauling a bunch of circus performers, he catches himself quick enough for the laugh to come out wry and pained.

he puts his hands, palm side up on the counter as he shakes his head. “i don’t have any money on me.”

“they were all rabid?” the woman appears to be in genuine disbelief. william can’t tell if this is because his story is outrageous or because it’s tragic. when she puts a hand over her heart and says “oh dear..” under her breath, he figures it’s the latter.

“well, i..” he swallows down another laugh, managing to make it appear like he’s putting in active effort to not cry. his voice cracks. “it wasn’t all of them..”

“please, sir. tell me your name.”

he balks. he forgot to come up with a name. he has to come up with a name. he clears his throat and pauses to clean his glasses. “come again?”

she looks at him quizzically.

“i.. have a bit of a hard time hearing.” he cleans each lense as if it’s going to help him hear better.“what did you say?”

“i asked for your name.” her sympathy appears to be running out. “how are you able to play the organ if you can’t even hear right?”

“beethoven did, did he not?” quick on his feet. “would you turn away beethoven if he needed your assistance?”

she’s still waiting for his name. he puts the first two names that come to mind.

“it’s mark.. andrew.. ahem. andrews. my name is mark andrews.”

the woman at the front desk looks at him like he just told her the secret code. it is that or he named a former fling of hers.

“.. why would you wait so long to tell me?!” she beams. “you’re back to play some more? my friend loves your work. i never knew you did all that while deaf.”

he returns her glowing smile with a noticeably less confident smile, nodding.

“oh, i just have to go tell him right now!” she smacks the table before turning around.

“wait- please!” he repeats himself with incredible desperation. “please, miss!”

a bit too loud. he feels a hand lightly touch his arm. charlie’s grown tired of waiting. its a missing key, how long could getting a missing key possibly take? she’s watched him gesticulate for what feels like hours. it seems like an awful lot of work just to get an interview. she considers just breaking into the conference room anyways. when she approaches him to ask what’s been taking so long, he’s already so agitated he gasps. it’s that noise that finally gets the woman at the front desk to quit trying to get her coworker’s attention.

“oh, i’m so sorry mister andrews.” the woman returns red faced. “i didn’t know you were with your wife.”

“y-yes..” he flusters. charlie could say just about anything in this very moment that could make it worse. he stands rigid, stiff as a board when charlie puts her arm around his. again. it’s so much worse than before now that he knows people are watching. he opens his mouth but no words come out. she’s managed to make it worse without saying a single thing.

however great an actress william thinks he might be, charlie is far better. or maybe it’s just an excuse to touch another. she smiles an impatient smile and leans her head against his shoulder. william feels like this is going terrible. the urge to tear away is as strong as the urge to insist on having her on his arm even after this act is over. he only realizes how much he’s been sweating when he fixes his hair.

“so, how about that key?” charlie’s eyes are wide. she leans forward a smidge as she says it, like she’s reminding both parties of something obvious. she raises her eyebrows. there’s an opportunity to press william’s buttons just a little bit more. “is he giving you trouble?”

“charlie-”

“ahah, no! not at all. i’ll have a room for you in just a moment.” the woman tries to slip a quick request in, hoping if she asks it quick enough, he’ll relent. “.. but can i still bring my friend out and-”

maybe it’s because of the adrenaline. maybe it’s a streak of confidence. maybe it’s rude. or maybe it’s william’s maxwellian sensibilities breaking out of their shell as some sort of preservation instinct. he straightens his back and no longer has the patience to keep playing modest. “i have a headache. a terrible one. do you have any idea how much i long for a decent rest on a nice, luxurious bed?”

charlie looks up, amused at his directness. william knows what he wants. maybe she should follow in his footsteps. “.. and i have a bad back.”

the woman appears a bit disappointed. thankfully, she relents. she puts her hands up and says she understands and that she’ll go and get one of the nicer keys.

when she returns and slides it over, she punctuates her actions with a quiet, “if you ask me, i think you guys are too good for vaudeville.”

that woman kept her word. they are nice. simple, small- even smaller in hands like his- and yet surprisingly heavy. a key that will truly be his one day. he makes sure to look very briefly at the room number, lest charlie realize that this isn’t actually a replacement key. that was the story he chose to weave on the way to the front of the building from the bar. charlie already has her suspicions; william should consider himself lucky to be as endearingly eccentric as he has been since the moment they met. it’s the one thing that keeps her entertaining him.

now, william would never consider himself eccentric. magic is a performance art and performance artists are known for being interesting personalities, but william hopes that he’s seen more as the mysterious highbrow type of artist and less like a bumbling crank kind of artist. he can feel himself getting closer to maxwell with every passing day, but it only takes one quick look within himself to find that the gap between the two is still there. he places down new foundation every day in order to be able to make it all the way across one day. part of that foundation-laying is book reading and... courting. negotiating. schmoozing. playing the game. every conversation with charlie is practice for the future. he imagines that charlie feels similarly.

charlie thought she felt similarly. the clicking of their shoes echoes down the hallway. they’re no longer in any of the busy parts of this behemoth of a hotel. the intervals between the clacking of her footsteps are markedly shorter than his. sometimes she has to speed up when he gets lost in thought and quickens his gait. the quiet moments in between bursts of conversation give her time to herself that she does not desire in any way. time to herself means time to acknowledge the elephant in the room. she didn’t expect to be so shaken up about what the woman at the front desk said. she can tell it’s not going away any time soon; remembering that one word imbibes her with the horrid feeling of having swallowed a collection of metal shot put balls that are now actively clinking and clanging in her stomach with every shift of her hips.

she doesn’t even remember that the woman addressed him with a different last name. in the moment she took a note to ask him about that. that mental note didn’t last a second the moment that woman referred to charlie as his wife.

god, of course he has a wife, she thinks. it would explain all the apprehension and irresponsibility. it would explain all the secrets that have passed by her very eyes and the secrets that are yet to come. but that’s not really why charlie thinks it’s obvious that he must have a wife. charlie thinks it’s obvious that he must have a wife because she’s growing to find him attractive and that word makes her acutely aware of the fact that she may not be the only person who may have seen him in such a way. she’s definitely not the first. some woman got to play finders keepers before charlie even realized there was something to search for in the first place.

“so.. you have a wife and you’re out here looking for a ‘magician’s assistant.’ that must have gone over really well.” charlie blurts over the sound of the clashing and burbling metal balls. she makes air quotes when mentioning her own prospective job. the job she’s about to interview for. maybe the innuendo is less of a joke like it was at the start and has started to become wishful thinking

he looks puzzled. of all the things that happened at the front desk, a different part of the conversation is at the forefront of william’s memory. it didn’t matter what the hell that woman could have mistakenly referred to charlie as- she could have said family, sister, cousin. he raises his eyebrows as he thinks to himself that it’s good she didn’t, come to think of it. rather than anything that was said, william was mulling over how easily she was able to touch him and how natural it felt.

charlie notices that he appears to have thought something to himself. she sees it on his face. it doesn’t look like he expected to be called out, the rat bastard. “does she know?”

“ah, er..” william is red faced. he takes his glasses off to clean them. they are perfectly clean. some of his hair is sticking to his forehead. he only notices when he wipes the sweat off of it. it’s been stuck there for a while. probably before he even left the bar.

she doesn’t really give him much time to actually answer. “is she back home ‘across the pond?’” charlie puts on her best worst british accent. she makes herself laugh to disguise her disappointment. money is money. “that’s the only way i can imagine somebody like you getting away with it.”

“i’ve already told you that it’s.. not like that.” he doesn’t understand why she’s so invested in this. it’s a bit bothersome to be perceived in such a way, regardless of how correct or incorrect the assumptions may be. william carter is a gentleman. his growing irritation becomes harder to hide when he drags out the enunciations of the last few words.

she returns his attitude in kind. “not like what? you were the one who decided that we’d need a private room to conduct this interview.”

he’s had a hard time looking her in the eye ever since they left the front desk, but those words get him to look at her, dumbfounded. he shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head, scoffs. “as opposed to?”

“the dining room? the parlors? the conservatory? you could have challenged me to a game of billiards,” oh, how she wishes she could take her frustration out with a quick jab of a pool cue. “or you could have checked to see if the little dining rooms were empty, or-”

“alright, alright. that’s enough.” a small and notably exhasperated laugh comes out from deep in his throat as he slows to a stop. what a dogged determination to prove a point. to take something that isn’t real and make it so. it is not so different from what he does on stage. one’s delusion is another one’s magic, perhaps. it is undeniable that this woman is quick on her feet. william didn’t even know there was a conservatory.

i’ll tell you when i’ve had enough. with her palm up and other hand still pointing at the last finger she used to count the locations in the hotel she could remember, she holds her words back with her tongue pressed firm against her cheek. it keeps her from noticing that william is double and triple checking to make sure he’s at the right room.

he opens the door for her- a display of chivalry that reads to a miffed charlie as more compensatory than courteous. by letting her in first, she can lead the way and not notice any expressions of surprise that may appear on his face as he takes in the surroundings. he almost forgets the key in the lock with how distracted he is by the quality of the hotel room. the apartments on the upper floors must be even nicer- a niceness that william can’t even begin to conceive of. maxwell might.

it is one thing to dream about luxury. it is another to be in it. when charlie asks him if he prefers to have her take her shoes off or keep them on, he isn’t quite sure which answer makes him look more refined. he tells her that she can do whatever she’d like, and she worries that this is some sort of test before the interview even starts. she takes them off.

when stepping from one rug to another, her tights make her lose balance. if she was here with her sister, she’d probably roll up the rugs and see how far she could slide on the nicely laminated wood. she’d make more of a show of how impressive this place is. maybe she’d challenge her sister to a race like they did when they were kids. she wonders if the ever so high-strung william ever did things like that as a child. maybe he came out into the world an incredibly serious baby. a baby all suited up, too serious to cry in his mothers arms. that’s a funny thought.

he keeps his shoes on. he knows this is only temporary. all of it is. the room, his time at the bottom of the food chain, and maybe even his time with this woman. for a moment, when he sees her trip and laugh it off, he almost wishes none of it was. he may free himself of many of the burdens william must bear as maxwell, but maxwell will have newer, more insidious difficulties to deal with. as william, he at least knows that this lady is sincere. as nosy as she is and as hard to read as her intentions may be, william can tell that the most she wants out of him is an opportunity to work alongside him. and the money, yes. but she seems to have little patience for nonsense. william thinks that if she did not see anything in him that she would not stick around, even if it comes with the risk of losing out on a paycheck.

if maxwell is to become a great shining star, then he will have to deal with swarms of people who may want to work with and associate with him with less than noble intentions. he will have something to offer. his value, his uniqueness and his magic are what makes him shine bright. there would be no calm, idyllic moments like this. a smile like hers would always come with doubts and second guesses. it’s starting to look less like he may have to work with her because no one else is interested, and more like he may have to work with her because she might be an asset. she might be the only person who was curious about him before he found success. he wouldn’t have to suffer alone. now that’s a funny thought.

it’s not like william cared much about whether or not he suffered alone. doing the magic stuff on his own was his plan from the start. leaving england for the states was to seek opportunity at the cost of community. he cares for knowledge, he cares about unraveling the unknown. and that unknown was always in the shape of shadows. it wasn’t ever in the shape of a woman curling and uncurling her toes to feel the plushness of the carpet.

it’s a modest suite. the only two rooms to the left and right of the entrance are to a bathroom and a little parlor room. across from the front door are a pair of seats that face a fireplace. the sun has now set fully, creating a contrast between the dark night and the white lace curtains. the kind of money needed to furnish not only a suite like this but also all others in this building is unimaginable to the both of them. both of them are unsure about how to get the interview started. while william loiters by the door, charlie appears to be unable to sit still. she tries to disguise her jitters as mere curiosity about the place, asking him questions about his time living there. he manages to answer her questions well enough for her to not look at him with too much confusion.

the more william has to lie, the better he gets at it. he weaves a story of having been there for several months, and how much of the furniture appears untouched because he always has room service around. the sheets are nice because he’s the tidy sort and tries to make it easy for room service. there’s no need to open any of the cabinets because there are personal items in them. yes, in all of them. all his jackets are folded and none are hanging because he doesn’t like how they look hung up. it’s just a little quirk of his. he responds to each of her inquiries as he leans against one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, too nervous to sit down. he’s waiting for her to sit first.

once she’s had her fun, she finally takes her coat off and hangs it up. it rests on the coathook alone. she dresses simply, but with great attention to detail. fabrics are not ornate, but are good quality. she manages to not draw much attention to herself despite showing more skin than many of the other women william has seen. she feels no need to hide the shape of her body or avoid anything improper. what he thought was an attempt at provocation the first time she saw her appears to be more about prioritizing comfort. his own mother never let anyone in the family see her like that.

in private, he sees less of a pressure to protest about her attire. he’s a magician, for crying out loud. he can conjure things far more bizarre than a brassiere-less, corset-less woman. it is only then that he realizes he’s gone a while without even thinking about his beloved book. maxwell would be disappointed in him. or perhaps not. perhaps maxwell shares william’s curiosities about this strange woman as she returns to face william.

“can you undo my necklace for me?” she turns her back to him before he even answers. he’s not given much of a choice. “it’s been bothering me all day.”

she lifts the back of her hair up and away with both hands. william’s never had to undo a clasp this small. it’d be puny in her hands, and it’s microscopic in his. she could have turned the thing around and undone it herself in one of the suite’s many mirrors, but instead she opts to have an acquaintance fumble with long, cold fingers.

she’s so close. he can see all the thin hairs that line the back of her neck as they fade into smaller and smaller translucent hairs. he tries not to touch her skin, only this blasted clasp. she looks like she would feel soft to the touch.

every time his fingers accidentally brush against her neck she instinctively brings her shoulders up and laughs, calling them little icicles. william tries to hold his breath as long as he can in fear that the sound (or god forbid, the feeling) of it would only be a reminder of how uncomfortably close the two are.

he cannot hold his breath forever. she calls him out for it when he stops to turn his head away with a louder than planned exhale. it doesn’t change his behavior whatsoever. he just tries to hold in a breath once more, despite the movement of her shoulders as she laughs. when the extent of his nervousness sets in, she wonders if asking him was the right thing to do. this may be inappropriate. she wouldn’t want to see her partner so close to another, doing something so intimate. she wouldn’t be standing so close to a friend who asked for her help. she wouldn’t make it feel so strange and so prolonged.

“your wife would be really mad if she knew you were doing this.” charlie blurts. she doesn’t know why she said that. she doesn’t know why she ruined something that was starting to feel nice.

he’s forced to no longer hold in his breath. he responds almost immediately. “tch- again?”

“i’m just saying it’s not a great look.” she traps him and punishes him for falling for it. it gets quiet for a moment. she presses her lips together and looks down. she expects him to at least feel bad about what he could be doing to his wife back home.

a shiver runs down her spine when she feels him sigh behind her. she half expects the necklace to tighten around her neck. it doesn’t.

“i would hope that when i do find someone to settle down with, that they wouldn’t be so self conscious and so possessive as to treat me like a wild dog that’s just been unleashed.”

she can hear the clicking of the clasp. it seems like he’s getting the hang of it, but that’s the last thing on her mind right now.

it is william that rebuffs her, but it is maxwell that leans in and lowers his voice. he speaks confidently, smoothly. almost mockingly. in her ear. “does your significant other think that lowly of you? or are you just looking for a way out, miss charlie?”

it’s a lot to take in at once. she watches the necklace appear in front of her in his hand. now it is charlie’s turn to let out a nervous sigh. the second she puts her hair down, she flinches at the feeling of that same hand tuck her hair behind her ear. she gets the urge to take off her jacket in the sweltering heat before she realizes that it’s over on the coat hanger across the room.

“do you want your earrings off too?” he studies her closely.

she feels incredibly small. she figures that must look as small as she feels. when she turns her head, his hand accidentally brushes against her cheek. she spooks maxwell away. it is william who quietly apologizes for touching her under his breath. charlie, just as quietly, responds to his question with a “no, no thank you.”

and that settles that. william tries to distract himself from the consequences of making such a bold move by returning to his seat. she lingers there for a moment. while turned around, it is her turn to look down on him. he crosses one long leg over the other and lays his arms out, tapping his fingers on the ends of the armrests. she does not perceive his nervousness at all. all she can feel is her stomach tying itself in knots.

he looks up at her. “is this the kind of interview you had in mind?” he motions to the chair beside him. “or would you prefer the parlor room? somewhere more public, maybe?”

despite looking down at him, she feels as if he holds all the power. and he does- he’s her potential boss, after all. the realization sets in right then and there as she squeezes the dainty necklace in her hand. her sister got her that with her first ever paycheck.

“you were making a big fuss about it earlier.” the rush of confidence is a bit intoxicating to william. the upper hand. he feels an odd mix of apprehension and ego. this is who he is supposed to be. “you listed all of these locations.”

“i wasn’t making a f-” she raises her voice. when he looks back at her once more, she gets a good look at his face. it’s.. oddly smug? he’s trying to volley with her. she raises her brows for a moment before giving in with a smile. “yeah. i sure did.”

he watches her go from behind him to beside him, slouching a little in her seat. she crosses her legs like him.

“and then what?” charlie leans towards him. “and then what, mister carter?”

maxwell’s impressed. “and then.. i decided on this one. and here we are.” he clears his throat and fixes up his suit. he's in his element now. “so.. let’s talk magic.”